


The Midnight Barber

by eggnogged



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggnogged/pseuds/eggnogged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I do my best work when you're oblivious! I lean you up against the pillow, and I go at you!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Midnight Barber

**Author's Note:**

> Somnophilia and a bit of dub-con. Thanks to J for the beta!

It starts out innocently enough, just another night-time trim of Howard’s hair. 

It’s growing a bit longer than Vince likes, and it’s been niggling at him for days. For one, when Howard’s hair gets this long, it starts losing its curl, as though the further away from Howard’s jazzy head it gets, the more lank and lifeless it becomes – removed from its source of neurotic madness, it loses the will to stay wild and curly. Vince rather likes the chaotic nature of Howard’s curls, how each one always seems to be off in a different direction, doing its own thing, listening to its own tune. That, and the long straight-ish hair makes him look like a tramp. Tramp is even worse than geography teacher. Then there’s the split ends – those just can’t be allowed to exist any longer. The day before, Vince had found himself staring at them in the shop while Howard was droning on about pipes or global explorers or suspenders, and it was as though each individual hair was flipping him off. 

Something had to be done.

Howard always complains that Vince disturbs his sleep when he comes home late, but the truth of the matter is that he sleeps as profoundly as a hibernating bear. Vince can turn on the bedside lamp, prop Howard up with some pillows, wrap a bath towel around his neck, and snip away at his hair with his Jacquettie scissors and Howard never wakes up. Sometimes he talks in his sleep though, Howardian nonsense words about boring beige things, answering Vince’s amused questions with even more nonsense.

“Mmm. Don’t touch the... not that. I made it.”

“You made what, Howard?”

“A lentil horseshoe.”

Occasionally he’ll even scat for a few seconds, though he’ll usually stop if Vince asks him to – he seems to be quite suggestible when he’s sleeping, much more agreeable than his normal conscious self. There was one time when he’d started a crimp that was so brilliant that Vince had been convinced he’d been awake, but it turned out he was completely oblivious, sleep-crimping away with Vince like a mad genius. He seemed to have no recollection of it the next day when Vince had tried to recreate it over his cereal. 

And sometimes, Vince will hear his own name in between the unintelligible mumbling and he’ll smile fondly, wondering what is going on in that great big bonce, what kind of adventures they’re getting up to in Howard’s dreams.

And so, tonight, it starts as it usually does. 

Vince snips away quickly and efficiently, watching the bits of hair tumble down to Howard’s shoulders and imagining the ends raging, waving their little split-end arms in fury and cursing Vince as he obliterates them one by one. It doesn’t take very long at all, and ten minutes later Vince straightens up to admire his handiwork. He tilts his head sideways, his expert eyes analysing the way the curls are falling over Howard’s ears, then takes a few steps back and goes to stand at the end of the bed to look at him from another angle. It’s not _perfect_ of course, but it’s the best he can do under the circumstances, without resorting to root booster, hairspray, and his hair dryer. Howard might be a heavy sleeper, but surely the hair dryer would be too much.

Satisfied, Vince stretches a bit to get rid of the cramp in his neck from bending over Howard for so long, then tiptoes back to the side of the bed, dropping his scissors quietly on the bedside table. He grabs the corner of the towel draped over Howard’s shoulders and tugs to get it free, but the corner is caught between Howard’s shoulder and the pillows that are propping him up, and when Vince tugs a bit more firmly it comes loose abruptly, scattering bits of brown hair all over Howard’s arm.

“Shit!” 

Howard mumbles something under his breath and Vince pauses, glancing nervously at his face.

“Howard?”

“Mrph. I have... elbows.”

Still asleep, then. Vince smiles a bit to himself and tosses the towel aside, leaning over Howard to clean up the mess he’s made. It’s an awkward angle, though, so before Vince can think better of it, he finds himself kneeling up on the bed and then straddling Howard’s waist so he can reach the bits of hair that have fallen on the corner of the bed closest to the wall.

Vince leans up to pick up a stray curl of brown hair from where it had landed on Howard’s exposed clavicle, but before he even touches it, Howard suddenly inhales sharply, his moustache twitching. Vince freezes mid-movement, his fingers hovering half an inch from Howard’s skin. He stares down at Howard’s face and holds his breath, heart hammering in his chest. After what seems like an eternity but can only have been a few seconds, Howard grumbles something and shifts a bit, letting out a deep breath through his nose. Vince lets out a relieved sigh and finally picks off the stray bit of hair. He takes another moment to make sure he’s managed to get rid of most of the evidence of the haircut – the Midnight Barber is always careful not to leave any tracks – and leans even further forward, supporting himself with one hand on the bars of the bed, gently trailing his fingers over Howard’s upper arm, brushing off the last bits of hair from his pyjamas.

Howard lets out a light snore, and Vince realises with a jolt that he can feel Howard’s breath on his cheek. He stops where he is for a minute, glancing down at Howard’s slack face, so close to his now. This is the closest he’s ever got to Howard without him protesting or getting all weird or awkward, and it seems a bit unfair that this can only happen when Howard is unconscious. It’s nice, this, the solid warmth of Howard’s body below him, the even rise and fall of his chest.

Vince’s gaze travels unbidden to Howard’s mouth and finds that it looks strangely tempting, his lips full and parted slightly, and Vince feels a traitorous surge of desire, his senses assaulted by Howard’s proximity – his smell, a familiar combination of soap, tea, pipe tobacco, deodorant, and beneath that, a musky, masculine scent that is entirely _Howard_. The broad expanse of his chest, the strong line of his shoulders and the heat emanating from him like a furnace, all of these details combining to turn an innocent moment into one charged with electricity and meaning. The smooth white skin of his chest where the top button of his pyjamas is open looks soft and inviting and Vince aches to taste it, to lean down and bite him there, then soothe it with a lick and a kiss – he doesn’t dare do it, though, doesn’t dare upset this fragile moment.    
  
It seems like hours that Vince sits there, frozen, torn between guilty, stolen pleasure and terror that Howard will wake up and find him there, straddling his waist with a great big erection in his pyjamas. It _is_ a bit creepy, isn’t it? Hovering over your best mate in the middle of the night, thinking moony thoughts about him – yeah, it’s quite pathetic actually, and Vince would die of embarrassment if anyone saw him like this, carrying on like a right pervert. 

Vince squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, then sits up a bit and is about to clamber off of the bed as quietly and slowly as possible when Howard raises his hands from the mattress and grabs him by the hips.

Vince jerks back in surprise and bites back a yelp when the movement brings his arse in contact with Howard’s cock, which is decidedly erect, hot and throbbing even through the cotton barrier of their pyjama bottoms. Vince freezes in shock, eyes wide as saucers.

“H-Howard?”

Howard still seems completely out of it, though. The bedroom is dead silent except for the sounds of their breathing, Vince’s shallow and nervous, Howard’s deep and even. It seems impossible that Howard can still be asleep in these circumstances, but there can be no other explanation – if Howard was awake, he’d be bumbling and embarrassed and probably on the verge tears or of a nervous breakdown, he wouldn’t be lying there, all relaxed and warm and peaceful, his hands heavy on Vince’s hips.

“Fuck,” Vince whines under his breath when Howard starts to move, rocking his hips up and rubbing his erection slowly against Vince’s backside. “Oh my god, Howard,” he stutters, unable to make himself move beyond arching into it, riding out the small waves of pleasure and angling his body to facilitate Howard’s grinding. It’s wrong and perverse and awful but it feels too good to stop.   
  
It isn’t enough and it’s too much, this slow, teasing pressure and Vince feels heady, drunk with a dizzying mixture of guilt and delight, feeling his own arousal weigh heavy and thick inside his pants.

He tosses his head back and lets Howard lull them both into a steady rhythm, revelling in how hard Howard is against his arse. As though of its own accord, Vince’s hand slides inside his pants and he takes his own cock in hand, biting back a moan as he begins to stroke himself loosely, his other hand fisted in the bed sheets by Howard’s leg. 

_ This isn’t so terrible, is it? _ He asks himself desperately, biting hard on his lower lip to keep from moaning out loud. Ok, so, technically it probably counts as taking advantage of your unconscious mate, but that sounds so _grim_ , and Vince is just touching himself, isn’t he? It’s Howard who is doing all the work, with his big hands holding Vince down firmly and rubbing himself against Vince’s arse. And they are both still clothed, surely it isn’t that bad? Vince suddenly finds himself imagining what this would feel like if they were both naked and a shudder runs down his spine at the thought of it, how it would feel to have Howard’s slick cock sliding between his cheeks, bumping against his hole.   
  
“Oh,” he whimpers quietly, stroking himself a bit more firmly, quick, sure strokes, brushing his thumb over the delicate skin on the head and spreading the moisture all along his length.

Howard’s hands slide from Vince’s hips to cup his buttocks and Vince groans, mouth falling open. Howard’s breath is quickening and his thrusts are growing more and more erratic, but he still seems so relaxed and so willing that it’s becoming harder to feel any contrition at all. Howard is grinding against him in an automatic, loose-limbed sort of way, his fingers digging almost painfully in the soft flesh of Vince’s arse. Two more thrusts and then Vince feels Howard jerk beneath him, and feels wet, hot fluid soaking into the cotton of their pyjamas. Transfixed by the sight of Howard’s face contorted in pleasure, Vince twists his hand one final time and comes with a stuttered gasp, and it hurts, almost, the sudden release of pressure.   
  
Howard sags back against the pillows and his grip finally loosens, and he lets out a deep breath, and a whispered word that sounds suspiciously like...

“...Vince.”   
  
Still struggling to catch his breath, Vince startles, raising himself up on his knees to loom closer to Howard’s face. Howard’s fluttering eyelashes look silky and dark against his cheek and he looks a bit like he’s smiling, but he is still undoubtedly – unbelievably – asleep.   
  
“Howard?” Vince whispers, wiping his hand on his pyjama leg and leaning further still, trying to ignore the way his heart is thundering inside his chest, “Who... who are you with?”   
  
“Vince,” Howard says in that same monotone voice he always has when he’s sleep-talking, and Vince can’t hold back a grin.   
  
“You big creep, are you having naughty dreams about me?”   
  
Howard grumbles something incomprehensible and Vince leans down to kiss him softly, just a tiny brush of lip against lip – it’s an apology, maybe, or a thank you. Maybe both. 

Then he finally clambers off of the bed as quietly as possible and tiptoes out of the room to go clean up in the bathroom. He feels giddy and strange and lightheaded, and still a bit guilty, and he knows he won’t get much sleep for the rest of the night. It’s okay, though, because he has a plan.   
  
Tomorrow, he’s going to seduce Howard. Only he’ll make sure that Howard is awake this time.


End file.
